


Unusual Behavior

by lucdarling



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers team notices that Clint is acting differently: he's sitting quietly in a corner, off to himself instead of vying to be the center of attention alongside Tony. What's more worrisome is that he's doing paperwork of his own volition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unusual Behavior

When Bruce catches sight of Clint bent over a pile of white papers that can’t be anything but mission reports, he rubbed at his eyes hard. Clearly he must have spent too much time in the lab. He looks at his watch - nope, today was only a 13-hour shift and he wasn’t working with any potential hallucinogenics that might otherwise explain why Clint is doing paperwork at close to midnight. Bruce doesn't say a word as he crosses the kitchen for a glass of orange juice. Clint doesn’t look up, intent on scrawling surprisingly neat words over inked lines. Bruce finishes his juice, puts the glass in the dishwasher and then stares at Clint until the man twisted in his chair.

“You doing okay?” Bruce questions. Clint shrugs, his mouth a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Bruce chalks it up to having to stare at that much paperwork all at once and is glad he gets his reports finished in a timely manner, unlike some people it seemed.

“Doing fine, thanks. ‘m nearly done here, you don’t have to creep around and worry about disturbing me. I think I’ll hit the range for a few hours.” He glances back at the papers, signed his name on three forms and shuffles them all haphazardly into a folder. Bruce watches him leave the kitchen with a frown.

\- -

Tony peers suspiciously at Clint on the video feed, who has apparently snuck into Tony’s workshop and made himself at home at the drafting table Tony has in the corner. The table isn’t for Tony, it’s for Steve because he’s the artist of the team but that is neither here nor there, because the point is that the table is not for Clint. Clint spends as little time in Tony’s workshop as possible, unless he’s annoying the billionaire. Tony stands from the monitor in his bedroom - he’s allowed to be a little paranoid after the cave, after Obadiah, after his assistant’s protege stabbed him in the neck with chemicals; this is just a precautionary measure - and heads down to the lower levels of the mansion.

He blusters in, heading straight to the stereo and letting the heavy bass of Black Sabbath wash through the room. Tony takes a few steps towards Clint at the table to his left and freezes as something small whizzes past his stomach. The music cuts off as the pen hits the power button and there is silence in Tony’s ears.

“My workshop, my rules!” Tony definitely doesn’t whine. Clint chuckles quietly, resting a hand on the papers in front of him.

“I was here first. No music, it distracts me.”

“Why are you even here?” Tony is suspicious and his mind starts cataloguing Clint’s dress, manner of speech; it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, not after the attempted infiltration two months ago.

“JARVIS appreciates how to be quiet.” Clint rolls his eyes. “Thor’s trying to defeat the Wii bowling again so there’s no hope of peace on any of the upper levels.” Tony steps closer.

“So you’re not a machine or a Skrull, you’re just down here because it’s quiet?” His tone is scathing and full of disbelief. Tony looks at what Clint’s doing. “Are you doing paperwork?”

“Gotta catch up sometime, or Coulson will block my access codes from the range and the armory for at least a month this time.” Clint shoots Tony a rueful grin and shrugs.

“Carry on,” Tony waves a hand and turns to leave. He can have JARVIS run some unobtrusive scans once he’s out of striking distance from the marksman, just to double check.

\- -

Natasha sighs to herself as Thor’s booming voice carries over the noise of the cafeteria. “What is this I spy? Hawkeye doing paperwork, has my brother brainwashed you?” She’s too far away to hear Clint’s harried defense but she can see his shoulders rise up defensively. The other SHIELD agents at the tables start to snicker and Natasha glares them into silence as she pays for her fruit salad.

Thor has thankfully quieted by the time Natasha reaches their table in the back corner. She slips into the seat across from her partner and opens the container of fruit, separating the green melon from everything else.

“No, but are you being punished?” Thor entreats. “The sight of you and a pen that is not a weapon is a rare sight, you must surely agree.” Clint reaches across to begin eating the melon Natasha won’t touch with his fingers.

“It’s not a punishment,” Clint admits. Natasha raps his knuckles with the extra fork and he takes it from her hand. She lets her lips turn up in a small smile at his acquiescence. “I just want to get this finished by tonight.”

“That’s sweet,” Natasha remarks. Clint begins eating the purple grapes she’s not fast enough to spear with her own fork. She lets him and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal. Thor looks contemplatively at the both of them and apparently decides questioning won’t get him anywhere. They finish eating in silence, surrounded by chattering S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the barely audible scratch of pen on paper.

\- -

Steve takes the empty couch cushion next to Clint and his eyes narrow at the paperwork spread out in front of Clint on the coffee table instead of the usual water bottle and television remote. The man rolls his eyes when the first thing Steve does is put the back of his hand to Clint’s forehead.

“You don’t feel like you have a fever,” Steve announces.

“Because I don’t,” Clint responds slowly. “I’m in peak condition, you know that.”

“You’ve done nothing but paperwork in every second of your free time for the past three weeks, at least.” Steve stresses though his voice belies his confusion as to why this is occurring. “You, who have been known to sneeze at the mere sight of folders and sitreps just to claim you’re allergic.”

“Yeah,” Clint says happily. “Phil’s face was the absolute best when I tried that excuse, wasn’t it?” He puts the pen down and moves his hands behind his head as he leans back against the couch to relax for a moment.

“Phil?” Steve repeats dubiously. “He is one of the highest ranking agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint. I know you don’t like authority figures but I thought you would at least have respect-” he’s interrupted by Clint’s bark of laughter.

“Well, I can’t very well call him Agent Coulson in bed.” Steve’s cheeks turn red at what Clint's words imply.

“Ah, I didn’t know.” Clint shrugs and leans forward to pick up the pen again.

“We don’t flaunt it, neither of us are big on that sort of thing.” The marksman remarks quietly. “But he’s had a lot of pressure on him from the higher-ups this month and I can sign Phil’s name just as well as he can.” He signs at the bottom of the page and Steve notices that yes, the signature is eerily similar to their liaison’s usual slanted letters. They even slant down as Coulson’s do, though Steve knows Clint’s handwriting more often than not wavers all over even with a line to write on.

“That’s illegal!” Steve gasps.

“No, it’s good practice.” Clint counters, turning the page over to sign at the bottom of the next one. “All sorts of skills are allowed and encouraged at S.H.I.E.L.D., I swear. Besides, I got his permission to do it.”

“This time, you mean.” Natasha remarks as she walks past the two.

“Yeah well, I learned my lesson.” Clint shakes his hand and Steve grabs it before he can grasp the pen again. “What are you doing?” His blue eyes stare at Steve as the super-soldier starts to rub at Clint’s hand with gentle pressure. “Oh god, that feels good.”

Steve smiles and finishes the impromptu massage, waiting for Clint to put his other hand in his. “If you need help, just let me know. It seems unfair you’re taking on all the paperwork by yourself and I have some artistic talent of my own.” He releases Clint’s right hand and stands from the couch. 

Clint stares at him with a slightly open mouth. “Did you, really, I mean - you’re Captain America!” He manages to get out. Steve winks at his flustered teammate and whistles as he walks away.


End file.
